“Who’s No. 74? Why do so many people have that jersey?”
I remember asking my dad that question when I attended my first New York Jets game at what was then called New Meadowlands Stadium, a preseason game against the Philadelphia Eagles in August 2011.
A newly minted die-hard Jets fan after being captivated by the team’s second straight deep playoff run, I was well aware of New York’s franchise players at the flashier positions that easily catch a 10-year-old’s attention, like Darrelle Revis and Mark Sanchez (I made my dad get me a shirsey of the latter; shoutout to Modell’s).
But who the heck was No. 74? That number isn’t a single-digit, in the teens, twenties, or eighties. Why do so many people have that weird jersey number?
“That’s Nick Mangold. He’s the center,” my dad said.
I didn’t even know what a center was. Heck, I wasn’t aware of the offensive line in general.
I may have had a subconscious awareness that the offensive line was part of a football game, but as a new, young football fan still learning the ropes, it was not something I was cognizant of—let alone offensive linemen as individuals.
Mangold was the first offensive lineman this young Jets fan had ever heard of. He introduced this young fan to not only the existence and importance of the offensive line, but also the idea that an individual offensive lineman could be just as much of a star as Darrelle Revis or LaDainian Tomlinson.
It didn’t take long for me to see Mangold, a guy who played a position I had never heard of, as the face of the early-2010s Jets teams that would bond me to the franchise for life.
Post-victory “Home of the Jets” chant? Mangold was front and center in those videos, which I would refresh the Jets’ website feverishly to see. (These videos took way too long to go up; it was maddening.)
Tough loss? Mangold would face the media and reassure a distraught me with his calm, yet optimistic demeanor. As broken as I may have felt, Mangold’s warm energy would make me feel like everything about the team would be okay.
Ryan Fitzpatrick leads a comeback prime-time win in Dallas? There’s Nick, embodying the energy of every Jets fan as he mobs Fitzpatrick during a post-game interview.
On and off the field, no face was more omnipresent in the vicinity of a Jets logo than Nick’s, from the first time I walked into East Rutherford to deep into my 20s.
When he was playing, he was there on my TV screen every week, anchoring a physical run game and a brick wall in front of the quarterback. After touchdowns, he would show off his elite 5.05 forty time by sprinting into the end zone to lift his teammates into the air.
There was something tangible about those celebrations for fans watching from home. When you saw his beady eyes and golden beard popping off the screen in a state of pure euphoria, it felt like he was there with you in your living room, and you couldn’t help but match his excitement—especially since his elation was drawn from the pride he had in his teammate’s accomplishment. That sense of camaraderie made every fan feel like what had just happened was a Herculean effort that took everybody in green, not just the player who scored. It caused you, as a fan, to feel even more connected.
After his career ended, a week would rarely go by without seeing Mangold making fans’ days in the MetLife parking lot or, at the very least, cheering on his team through social media. Mangold also remained a steady presence in Florham Park for the Jets players who hoped to follow in his footsteps; last year, he arrived at OTAs to coach up second-year center Joe Tippmann. Jets fans couldn’t be more thrilled to see Tippmann soaking up knowledge from the legend he aspired to live up to.
No man has ever represented what it truly means to be a New York Jet quite like Nick Mangold.
When Rex Ryan coined the term, “Play Like a Jet,” Nick Mangold is the man he had in mind.
Speaking through tears on Sunday afternoon, Ryan recalled a moment from the Jets’ 2014 season finale, when New York traveled to Miami for what Rex knew would be his last game in green. Mangold had battled various injuries all season and was doubtful for the game with an ankle injury.
But he suited up. For Rex.
That’s who Nick Mangold was. And I say this as someone who never knew him personally or had the privilege of speaking with him. But it says something special about Mangold that his infectious energy and endlessly positive aura were so palpable that even fans who never met him could draw inspiration from the way he approached not only the game, but life.
If you have been a Jets fan for any duration of time since 2006, Mangold grew to become a part of your daily life in a way that’s extremely rare for a Jet or a professional athlete in general. As sports fans, we develop admiration for players through their athletic achievements, but it’s not often that we develop an attachment to them for who they are as people. Mangold was the unique blend of megastar athlete and megastar person that doesn’t come around very often.
That’s why when the shocking news broke on Sunday afternoon that Mangold had passed away at the far too young age of 41, it broke me to tears. As it did for many Jets fans.
Because he wasn’t just an elite center, to the tune of seven Pro Bowls, three All-Pro appearances, and four road playoff victories. He was an elite Jets fan, an elite advocate for the organization, an elite mentor to the young players who followed in his footsteps, an elite role model, and an elite family man.
He was everything a 10-year-old Jets fan could aspire to become one day—even if this particular 10-year-old didn’t know that “center” was a real position when he first saw all those No. 74 jerseys at New Meadowlands Stadium.
He was the New York Jet.
And he always will be.
Rest In Peace, Nick.